we show off our different scarlet letters
What blood did for Asta, desire did for Flora: the moans shivering out of his lips, the way his hands grasped at her, the twisting of his body against the stones instead of hers. Not nearly as long as he was, the queen was forced to pull her mouth away from his with a breathless gasp in order to continue her descent down his body. In some other foray, she might have allowed him to see the clever tricks her own tongue was capable of performing, but gods if she didn't want him inside of her. Perhaps some small part of her mind knew that the longer this little game went on, the more she'd be expected to wager to keep his interest. Certainly, she didn't know the full extent of what he'd take if given the chance or even how much he'd already restrained himself, Flora knew enough that even if she went all in to win, she'd still lose.
Letting her own perfectly straight teeth nip down the length of his body not avoiding any of his scars but instead alighting on particularly gnarled knots for the firework of pain it might cause him, Flora let her fingertips untie the white and red string binding his shorts before shifting to the side in order to tug them off. Sitting up, the queen folded the garment in half and then in half again before glancing rather casually at his cock and lifting a brow, her face a thinly veiled mask of approval. Leaning back to straddle him again, Flora let her chest press down against him as her ass remained in the air, far away from where his cock was pointed. Stretching out her hands, the muscles of her body taut and measured as if in some exaggerated child pose, the queen moved to fit the shorts beneath Asta's head just as he'd done for her, her lips twisted into a roguish smile.
"Something tells me this is not how things normally go for you." And not just because she was a woman, and not because she was an accepted. Everything in the butcher's actions so far spoke of control. Spoke, in short, of being a top. "But I'd be ever so appreciative if you let me do things the way I want." The queen purrs, arching her back and holding herself above him like some too-flexible contortionist. "Please?" She adds in a velvety purr as her hips lower ever so slightly that she might place the head of his cock against her wet heat.
Letting her own perfectly straight teeth nip down the length of his body not avoiding any of his scars but instead alighting on particularly gnarled knots for the firework of pain it might cause him, Flora let her fingertips untie the white and red string binding his shorts before shifting to the side in order to tug them off. Sitting up, the queen folded the garment in half and then in half again before glancing rather casually at his cock and lifting a brow, her face a thinly veiled mask of approval. Leaning back to straddle him again, Flora let her chest press down against him as her ass remained in the air, far away from where his cock was pointed. Stretching out her hands, the muscles of her body taut and measured as if in some exaggerated child pose, the queen moved to fit the shorts beneath Asta's head just as he'd done for her, her lips twisted into a roguish smile.
"Something tells me this is not how things normally go for you." And not just because she was a woman, and not because she was an accepted. Everything in the butcher's actions so far spoke of control. Spoke, in short, of being a top. "But I'd be ever so appreciative if you let me do things the way I want." The queen purrs, arching her back and holding herself above him like some too-flexible contortionist. "Please?" She adds in a velvety purr as her hips lower ever so slightly that she might place the head of his cock against her wet heat.
